Permanently
by DemonicSammy
Summary: Harry Potter was left damaged after the war. He didn't think it would be possible for anything to get worse, but a strike of lightning thinks differently. Now stuck with the obstacle of being mute, Harry has to recover from the after affects from the war and finish his 8th year. When a certain blonde comes along, Harry realizes it might be a better journey than he thought.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello readers! Welcome to my first Harry Potter published fanfiction. Not my first experience with fanfiction, mind you, just the first time I've made a HP one public. It's not very good and my writing is horrible, but I'll let you decide that.**

 **Harry is about 100x angstier and edgier than I meant him to be. Just as a warning, considering quite a few people dislike it when characters are extremely angsty.**

 **So, I'll stop rambling, and let you enjoy the story! By the way, none of the characters or settings are my creation. Only the writing.**

* * *

What is it like, standing there as you watch the ground crumble beneath you, as your friend's corpses build up behind you with the massacre, to hear the screams of your friends ripping through the tense atmosphere of the battle, as you sob inside your mind while you walk to your death?

Harry knew the question wouldn't be answered by anyone but himself. No one else knew the pain of knowing that it was your fault that all the bodies that had piled up were dead. Everyone suffered their own horrors from the war, but Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of unfairness in it all. He had died and come back and he was still expected to be the poster boy for the light side.

The part about that was that he didn't want to be a poster boy. He didn't want to be on the light side, in fact. He was nowhere near being on the dark side, but he just didn't want any part in it. He wanted all the memories of the event gone. He didn't want to replay the entire battle in his head every time he opened his lips to speak.

Harry wiped at the tears that dripped from his eyes before looking upwards at the night sky. The stars were out, the sky was dark, and there was a full moon. He wondered how Remus was doing, before remembering he was long gone. His head dropped down away from the sky, finding it unbearable to look at.

He continued his previous goal of taking a walk around the castle. He had hardly gone outside since the battle. So much time had been taken up by the rebuilding of the castle, he hadn't known the date until recently. He had finally mustered up the courage to ask Hermione, whom had responded with cheer that it was the 29th of July.

Harry hadn't realized so much time had already passed. He should have at least guessed as much, seeing as the castle was almost completely rebuilt. He couldn't help but feel a small swell of pride in his chest every time he looked at the castle, even though he knew he didn't deserve to. It was him who had caused the destruction of it after all.

A rumble of thunder broke him out of his thoughts. He frowned as he felt the first few drops of rain hit his skin. It was abnormally warm rain. He shrugged off the realization, however, when the rain came down full force. It felt heavenly against his skin, and he shut his eye, basking in it. He must have looked like an odd sight to anyone who looked out at the grounds in that moment.

After a few minutes, he realized he should probably go back into the dry castle. Everyone would be worried sick about him. He took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the onslaught of questions that his friends would provide. He appreciated their concern, but they asked him so much that it was becoming irritating. He had half a mind to not respond to them again.

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, biting on his lip. It wouldn't kill him to stay outside a bit longer. It wasn't like he had any responsibilities for the day. Everyone seemed to treat him as if he was made of glass. He couldn't help but wish he had someone who would push him until he actually did break. He wouldn't doubt the usefulness of himself then. At least he would be easy to manipulate.

The rain dripped against his glasses, blocking his vision. He lifted his hand up to push them up his nose as he sighed. He resighned himself to plopping down upon the grass to wait the rain out. He had no way of directing himself towards the castle, or anywhere else dry for that matter. The only significant land mark he could see was the whomping willow, which he had no intention of getting near.

The world around him seemed to dim as he lay down, the wet grass tickling his skin. Harry's eyes drifted closed, absorbing himself in his thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder what his school days would have been like without the entire Voldemort mess. He most likely would have gotten a real education, and he wouldn't have to repeat his seventh year to get his NEWTs. Also, he wouldn't have to share a dorm room with a member from another house at all, unlike he had to that year.

He drifted off into a world of dreams, one where he was a normal boy who lived with his parents and knew he was a wizard before he could talk. He dreamed of going to Hogwarts and living out a happy and Voldemort free life. That is, until he was struck by lightning.

The first thing Harry was aware of was the pain that was coursing through his body, all the way from the tips of his toes to the ends of each strands of his hair. He felt like he was on fire, but at the same time he was in the artic. He couldn't even open his eyes, all the feelings assaulting him causing utter exhaustion to wash over him. He couldn't register the diminishing screaming that came out of his mouth. His sight grew dark, and, with a final breath, sank into darkness.

* * *

"Will he be alright Madam Pomphrey?"

"We can't be sure. He's showing a good sign of waking up, but we can't be sure of what damage was done until he's woken."

"Please, do anything you can."

"I will do my best, Ms. Granger."

Everything ached. All his muscles were tense and in pain, he could feel it. His eyes flew open, and he let out a painful groan. The white ceiling of the infirmary greeted him. He heard a gasp of surprise and a loud "Ms. Granger, please stand back for a few minutes." All he could focus on was the overwhelming amount of disappointment that coursed through his veins. He didn't know why, but he felt as if he was missing out on a large opportunity.

"Mr. Potter, I'm going to sit you up now so we can take a good look at you," He heard Madam Pomphrey explain before she propped him up against a collection of pillows. He squinted at the light that came in through the open windows, his eyes adjusting to the… whiteness of it all. He never could understand why they decided on such a boring tone of white.

He watched as Madam Pomphrey cast a diagnostic charm on him, sending a soft shiver up his spine. He always got a slight violated feeling whenever those were cast on him. He wasn't expecting Madam Pomphrey's surprised gasp. Harry sent her a questioning look, to which she responded, "Well, not all of it is as bad as I thought. You're insides aren't charred and you only have one rib broken. We've healed any scars. However, there seems to be a serious problem… Your, uh…" She coughed. "Your vocal cords are permanently damaged.

Harry's eyes widened as he tried to speak. All it resulted in was a searing pain in his throat and no noise coming from his being. Hermion summarized what he wanted to say well enough. "His vocal cords are _what?"_

"Permanently damaged. The lightning sent the strongest signal around his vocal cord, which caused irreversible side effects," She said, swallowing visibly. "We haven't found a way to fix it magically. Wizards and Witches alike have looked for a cure for centuries, but nothing has turned up… I'm sorry Mr. Potter."

Harry could hardly process her words. He stared ahead, his hand trailing upwards towards his throat. His fingers skimmed his adam's apple, the fact sinking into his brain. He would never be able to speak again. He was damaged, more so than before. If only he hadn't gone for that stupid walk the night before…

His eyes traveled over to Hermione's, who had tears spilling over hers. She seemed as if she was going to burst at any moment. She exclaimed, "Oh Harry! I'm so sorry! If only we had been taking care of you better, you wouldn't have lost your voice! It's all our fault."

Harry opened his mouth to contradict her, but closed it when he remembered he couldn't talk. Instead, he opted for shaking his head to show his disagreement. His fingers dug into the sheets beneath him, as rage surged up inside of him out of nowhere. He went through all that in the war, and this was how he was payed? By becoming mute? What kind of bloody god was running the world?

He stretched his neck, popping it both ways, before climbing out of the bed with ease. The pain had dulled into only a slight hindrance, and it hardly bothered him. After the war, his pain tolerance had skyrocketed to an almost concerning high threshold. He could hear the fussing of Madam Pomphrey behind him, but he pretended to be unable to hear. He continued forward and out of the infirmary.

Harry's feet carried him all the way to Myrtle's bathroom, where the lonely ghost no longer existed. Harry had no clue what happened to the poor ghost. He always hoped nothing horrible, but with his luck, it was doubtful.

He leaned against the entrance of the chamber of secrets, tears already falling down his face. He could deal with the consequences of the war, he could deal with all the blame on him, he could deal with a lot of things. Becoming mute and not being able to speak was not one of the things he would put on that list.

His shoulders shook as more tears escaped his eyes. He must have done something to deserve such a strong punishment. He already assumed the death and betrayal of half of his friends was enough, but someone out there thought the opposite. He was cursed to no voice for eternity, and as he tried to scream, all that it resulted in was skin-splitting pain.

Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-eye Moody, Dobby, Hedwig, Snape, and many others all had their lives taken during that last stretch of the war. He could hardly bare to think of their names. They had died hero deaths, each one of them. He always felt as if he was betraying their memory if he thought of them.

After the war was where the most losses counted. Almost all Gryffindors turned their backs on him. It seemed they only liked him while he was "The Chosen One", not when he was worthless to the cause. Dean, Seamus, even Ron. Ron had been the biggest shock to him. His best friend had spat in his face and called him a mudblood. Harry couldn't bear to think about it, but the only conclusion was that the entire friendship was a fraud.

Harry lifted a hand up to wipe the tears away from his eyes. He would have to face the world, in all his mute glory eventually. He stepped over to a working sink and turned it on, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He looked like death itself, with the large bags under his eyes and his hair casting shadows across his face. It almost made him laugh, but the self-pity swallowed that idea up before he could.

He splashed the water into his face, begging it to calm down so he could leave the room without worrying any of his friends. His friend group, currently, consisted of Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom. They were the only ones who could make him smile. He hated to admit that it all seemed superficial, as if he was tricking himself into thinking he was happy.

* * *

After a few minutes of deep breathing and drying his soaking bangs, Harry stepped out into a corridor of the castle. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it. He hoped he didn't look he had been crying. He didn't need to bring more melodrama to everyone's lives.

Harry made his way through the hallway, a shiver running up his spine. What would everyone else say, when they learned he was mute? His friends got annoyed with him on a daily basis, it wouldn't make it better if he couldn't respond. What if they no longer wanted to be his friend?

As he wasn't paying attention, Harry jumped in shock when he felt something collide against his body. His rear hit the ground before he hissed in pain from the cold stone flooring. He blinked a few times before sparing a glance upwards, mentally sighing when he saw it was none other than his ex-best friend, Ron Weasley.

"Watch where you're going, Potter. Just because you can't think straight doesn't mean you get to be a hindrance," Ron hissed, the hatred clear in his eyes. Harry opened his mouth to retaliate, wondering if Ron actually knew what the word hindrance meant. He shut his mouth again, choosing to instead glare at Ron with as much venom as he could gather. It wasn't much, as the memories of the golden trio flashed through his mind.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Ron questioned, laughing at his own comment. Harry pulled himself off the ground as he tried not to cry at the mirth that echoed through his old friend's voice. Things really were different. He continued past Ron, ignoring the calls behind his back that called him a coward and a freak. It was all he could do to take deep breaths to stop his shoulders from shaking.

When he arrived at the 8th year dorms, Neville had his arms wrapped around Hermione, who was crying. He stood in the doorway, shifting between his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had wanted to say something, before the big realization kicked in. He took a few deep breaths before walking forward, passing the pair and going into what he claimed as his room.

It was the farthest away from the others. He would have to share it with another student soon, but for the moment he appreciated the silence. The best part of the room for him was the window. The part of the castle they were in was under the water, though few would realize such a thing. For those who had windows in their dorms would have the spectacular view of the underwater world. Harry often pulled up a chair to the window and stared out into the depths, watching as fish of all kinds swam past.

In that moment, he spent no time admiring the tranquility of the fishes. He stumbled over to his bed and launched himself onto it, landing face first into his pillow. His shoulders shook for the third time that day, and the shock of never being able to speak again came back to him. It didn't seem real. Nothing after the war had ever seemed real to him. It all felt like some elaborate form of deception.

He continued his self-pity until his vision faded, and exhaustion swept over him. Harry found himself drifting off to sleep wishing that everything would go back to the way it was before. Even if that meant Voldemort was still alive.

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 **Please review! I appreciate feedback, no matter the kind. I hope you enjoyed!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is another chapter within the same week! Just so you all know, my schedule will be an upload every Saturday. I may not meet it every time, seeing as I'm still working my way through a very long writer's block, but I will try my hardest. Thank you for all those that favorited, followed, and reviewed for the first chapter! You guys are what helped motivate me to finish this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or settings in this story. Only the writing.**

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The days went by slow for Harry Potter. His lack of vocal abilities shocked everyone. Even Professor Mcgonagall, whom Harry had thought would have known about it before the first day of term. She had showered him with too much sympathy for his taste. Everyone except Ron had too many condolences. He just wanted someone to treat him like a regular human being for once.

Harry, on the first day of term, had found himself busying himself at Diagon Alley. He hadn't been interested in waiting around for all the students, new and old, to arrive and gawk at him for the millionth time since his arrival as a first year. He knew it would only get worse for him, seeing as he had just recently defeated Voldemort.

Besides, he needed a new wand. Since he either snapped or gave away the wands he had at the end of the battle, he would have to receive a new one. He was lucky that Ollivander had decided to reopen his shop after the battle, or else he would have been stuck snooping through Knockturn Alley for some sort of wand shop. He didn't even know if they had one there.

Harry opened the door of the shop, relishing in the small jingle of the bell that allowed Ollivander to know that a new customer was there. Harry stepped forward, waiting for Ollivander to arrive with a quick heartbeat. He hated to admit that he was nervous to get a new wand. The wand he had before, his precious holly wand, had been through many difficult battles with him. It almost felt like he was betraying it, to get a new one.

Ollivander strolled out of the many shelves of wands before his face lit up as he realized who his customer was. In that moment, Harry couldn't help but wonder why there never seemed to be more than one person in the shop at a time. Ollivander interrupted his thoughts by saying, "Mr. Potter! It is good to see you again. I assume you're here for a new wand?"

Harry nodded, moving forward towards the main counter Ollivander stood behind. He couldn't help but hope the man would not comment on his lack of voice, as he didn't think he could stand another ounce of pity. Thankfully, the man didn't address it, instead moving to choose the wand. "Don't worry about measurements, I still have them memorized. Beech, Unicorn Hair, 11 and a half inches, surprisingly swishy."

Taking the wand from the wandmaker's hand, Harry took a deep breath before giving it a slight wave. A chair blasted to the other side of the room, resulting in a loud crash and a few wands falling from their shelves. Ollivander removed the wand from Harry's hand with haste, deciding it wasn't the wand for him. Harry had to agree.

"Here. Ash, Phoenix Feather, 12 inches, rigid." Ollivander handed the wand to Harry for a brief second, before snatching it back up. "No, no, that's not it… How about this… Pine, Dragon Heartstring, 12 inches, rigid."

Harry grabbed the wand attentively, giving it a careful wave towards a potted plant that was sitting in a corner. The pot shattered in an instant, making Harry wince and place the wand back on the counter as he sent a sheepish look towards the wandmaker.

"Hmm… Hawthorn, Phoenix feather, 12 and a half inches, unbending," Ollivander listed, outstretching his hand to give Harry the wand. When his fingers wrapped around the base of the wand, he knew it was the correct one. The shop seemed to vibrate, and a small grey aura formed around Harry. He closed his eyes for a moment, the feeling sending shivers up his spine.

"I do believe that we have found your wand, Mr. Potter. It seems to have been a spectacular fit, even more so than your original," Ollivander commented, packing away all the other wands that Harry had tried. "Your wand will do you good in the upcoming years. I wish you the best of luck."

Harry inclined his head in thanks before fishing in his pocket for the required eleven galleons. He knew that the wandmaker wouldn't want to take them, but he would insist anyways, even if he couldn't talk. He gave Ollivander a half smile before walking out of the shop and into the summer air. He sleepily blinked a few times, before glancing downwards at his new wand.

It was a gorgeous wand. It was simultaneously a dark and light wood at the same time, with a slight auburn tinge to it. It was almost as if you could see the magic from the phoenix feather peeking out from behind the wood. Harry felt satisfied with his purchase, glad that the wand that had chosen him seemed to work so well with his magic.

* * *

When he had arrived back at the castle, he realized how close it was to the time of arrival for all the students. The feast would be in only thirty minutes, and he had no time to prepare himself for what was ahead. He had no doubt the information of his muteness would spread around the school within the first meal. Also, the prospect of facing the brothers and sisters of those who died because of him was terrifying in many ways.

Harry climbed the stairs to the new 8th year quarters, taking a deliberately long amount of time. The longer time he could delay the feast, at least in his mind, the better he would feel. His feet dragged on the ground, and his breathing quickened with a raspy quality. His head began to spin as he stumbled into the dorm, making him collapse against a wall. Absolute terror was the only emotion he could feel in that moment. His body shook and he couldn't breathe and all there seemed to be was the fuzzy darkness that surrounded him.

After what seemed to Harry as over an hour, the feelings subdued. He stayed there, curled up on the floor, for another stretch of time. His breathing returned to it's normal speed, as well as the ability to process surroundings. He could feel a familiar wetness on his cheeks and concluded he had been crying throughout the entire ordeal. However, he wasn't exactly sure what the entire "ordeal" was. All he could think of was the sense of fear and betrayal.

Harry gripped the wall next to him and pulled himself up, his muscles screaming at him to stop. His eyes widened as he realized where he was supposed to be. The feast was sure to have started by then. He stumbled through the main sitting room and to the dorm area, noticing the names of all the seventh year students without truly noticing them. He made it all the way to the back, his hand reaching for the handle on his door, when he froze. Eyes wide, he read the label on the door. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

His breathing quickened similar to how it had before. Why had anybody in their right mind room him with Draco? A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that it could be randomized, but he disregarded it. He would get nothing but teasing from that git, and Harry wouldn't even be able to retaliate. He resisted the urge to scream, gripping the handle tightly. He would have to deal with the fact that the entirety of his 8th year would most likely be filled with hate and deceit.

Harry attempted to take deep, calming breaths. He knew he had to start controlling these outbursts. There wasn't anything he could do to counteract the situation in front of him, and he would just have to figure out how to work around it. Still, he couldn't help but feel that little pit in the bottom of his stomach that screamed it wasn't fair.

He pressed down on the handle and opened the door. Inside the room, Harry immediately noticed the blonde Slytherin's trunks set up by the house elves. He attempted to ignore it, stepping into the room and sitting down on the bed, but it was a glaring change in his familiarity with the room. He doubted he would ever feel the same comfort the room had provided before.

Standing up once again, Harry made his way over to the bathroom. That was another uncomfortable aspect of sharing a room with Malfoy. They also had to share a bathroom. Harry shook off the thought, instead observing the tear tracks that his breakdown had caused. His eyes were swollen and red and you could tell something was wrong with him. He just doubted anyone would notice that it was something wrong with his head when the obvious problem seemed to be his vocal cords.

He grabbed a washcloth and ran it under some warm water before dabbing his eyes with it. He was familiar with this exercise because, as of recent, it was a common activity. He wiped at his face until there was no trace of him ever being upset or emotional at all.

Harry wasn't blind as well as mute. He had noticed that, after he lost his voice, he had become much more emotionless and secluded. He hardly ever showed any signs of sadness or happiness to his friends, and he often kept bored facial features. He spent much more time studying and reading in an attempt to boost his intelligence and pass the time. He never realized how much lonelier and boring everything seemed to be when you were mute.

He had, in certain ways, come to terms with the lack of voice. He did activities in his own way, and everyone seemed to accept that as a fact of life. A few people regarded him as less intelligent due to his lack of speech, but in reality he had never been brighter. The change of schedule for classes would just have to be worked around, like he worked around everything else. He could make it work. He knew he could.

The sound of students moving around the dorm room broke him from his thoughts. He looked up at the door, a fearful look in his eyes. He didn't want to have a face-to-face confrontation so soon with Malfoy. He wasn't prepared, and he had no idea how he was going to communicate with the prat, and he despised the thought of being teased.

Harry turned off the bathroom light and sat down onto his bed, grabbing a book as he leaned up against the wall. He glanced over the cover before smiling softly. The title was The Chronicles of Narnia: The Silver Chair. He had been reading a multitude of muggle books, as he hadn't been able to as a child, and he found them to be much more interesting than wizarding books. All the books in Hogwarts were non-fiction for studious purposes, so a nice fiction book was a refreshing change.

He continued to read his book even when he heard the door open. He ignored the footsteps that resounded in the room. He did not glance up even for a second, trying to focus on the book. It was hard to do so, however, when the sounds of another living inhabitant were so clear.

Harry expected Malfoy to make some sort of comment about the muggle book, or a sneer at how he was dressed, but nothing was heard. The silence wrapped around them, making Harry twitch. He was used to awkward silence, as he couldn't respond to questions when people forgot he was mute. Yet, somehow, the silence that surrounded them was so unbearably uncomfortable.

Sneaking a glance upwards, Harry was almost shocked to see Mafloy staring at him with a curious expression. The other boy didn't notice Harry looking at him, as he was too lost in thought. Harry shifted, moving his eyes back down to his book. It was nothing, it was just Malfoy being a git again. That's what he told himself, at least.

Harry continued to read his book, which was more reading over the same line many times as his brain wouldn't pick up on it. He was focused on tracking the blonde's every moment. He couldn't help but wince at the reminder of 6th year, when the war started. That small movement seemed to wake Malfoy from his stupor, and he stood up before walking out of the room.

Harry set down his book on the bed, staring at the doorway. He had to admit, the encounter had gone nothing like how he had imagined it. All the ways he had imagined ended in him being either humiliated or completely degraded. He hadn't taken into account that perhaps Malfoy was just as scarred as him from the war. He had to admit, they were two sides of the same coin. Malfoy started out on the dark side and veered off into the light while Harry had started off on the light side and slid into the grey.

Standing up, Harry realized his friends were probably frantic about him. He hadn't shown up for the feast and they hadn't seen him all day. He wouldn't be surprised if they thought he was dead. He strolled over to the door and opened it, wincing at the loud chatter that came from the main area. His hearing had become much more sensitive to sounds since the accident, and he had been dreading common areas.

He stepped through the crowds of people, attempting to stay unnoticed. It seemed everyone was too wrapped up in their friends to notice "The great" Harry Potter, which he was glad for. Glancing around the people, he made sure none of his friends were mixed in before he slipped out of the dorm area and into the stairway of the castle.

Sticking his hands into his pockets, Harry walked down the long stairways and into the entrance hall. He noticed Luna sitting on a statue that had been erected of Dumbledore, which seemed pointless in his eyes. It just served to glorify what should not be glorified.

"Hello Harry. You seem to have quite a few wrackspurts surrounding you, are you okay?" Luna questioned, glancing above Harry's head. He gave her a small grin, nodding his head. It was a lie of course, but it was much easier to lie when you didn't have a voice.

"Harry!" A loud voice exclaimed, and he was tackled into a hug by none other than Hermione Granger. He put an arm around her, comforting her. "We were so worried about you! You didn't show up to the feast! You're okay, right?"

Harry nodded his head once again, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The worry was touching, really it was, but it was so… common. They worried about him almost constantly it seemed. He wished he could tell them that he wasn't stupid, he could take care of himself. Technically he could, by writing it down, but that made everything seem so much colder than he would mean it.

"Have you had anything to eat? You must be starving! Come on, we'll go to the kitchens," Hermione fretted, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him away from the great hall. He stumbled a bit before keeping a decent pace behind his friend. Her question had made him realize he hadn't actually eaten anything that entire day.

Luna skipped beside them, humming the tune of London Bridge is Falling Down, which Harry was glad for. He couldn't help but think that Luna's singing voice was stunning. She often sung for him while they were walking on the edges of the forbidden forest. It was almost a regular thing, and the thestrals were quite happy with the meat they always brought.

Hermione's quick pace broke him out of his thoughts as they reached the portrait of fruit. He reached up and tickled the pear before anyone else could, in a child-like sense of delight. He wished he had known of the kitchens back in his fourth year, as he would have much preferred to eat in there.

The house elves all turned to look at the trio of humans who had just walked in. Thoughts of Dobby flashed through Harry's mind, but he ignored him. It wouldn't due to get emotional in front of all his friends after he had, for lack of a better word, told them he was fine.

"Hello. Could we have some of everything that was served at the feast?" Luna questioned, giving the house elves a smile. They all nodded and scurried off to fix together a meal for Harry Potter and his friends. Harry, Luna, and Hermione sat down at a table that the house elves provided for the few wandering students who came for food.

"I still don't agree with working the house elves so much," Hermione commented, giving a glance over to the elves who were cooking and washing dishes. They were humming a weird tune, and they seemed perfectly content to Harry.

"Actually, they quite enjoy their job. They derive magic from have a Master or Mistress, so if they don't work for someone, they lose their magic and die," Luna said with a casual tone in her voice. Hermione gasped at this new information, and Harry had to hide his grin. The expression on his friend's face wasn't something he had seen in a while.

The house elves appeared to them with their plates of food, which seemed much more extravagant than Harry deemed necessary. There were many types of meat on platters; vegetables and fruits were piled together in delicate stacks. The sweets had been placed at another table, for there were so many. The small growl in Harry's stomach commanded him to begin eating.

The trio dug into the meal, with soft smiles on all their faces. The relaxed atmosphere made Harry forget his worries for a short while, and, although nothing would ever be the same again, it seemed the closest thing to normal as they could get.

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 **I hope you enjoyed! Please review, they are always appreciated.  
**


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